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As a child, I believed my aunt,Who smelled of mothballs,When she told me one bedtimeThat blue is the color of eternity, blueLike the veins under tissue skin, I thoughtDying must be blue and the dead,Blue shadows in an azure heaven.

She died on the road to the emergency room,Under a blue light.I inherited a vase from China, blue lapis, On which a blue-robed monkCrosses a blue river on a bridge ofPaler blue to reach the blue garden of eternity.

Later, older, but not much wiserI thought that poetry is blue, the hueOf deathlessness, of all that wandersFrom soul to soul, a blue susurrus,Invisible like the breath of the monkCalming the leaves of the blue trees,Always present in the mind as idea.

Where have I not followed blue since,Like a moth, darting at the heart of flameAs Vincent’s empty eyes, in Ludwig’s speechless sea,Hoelderlin’s mute towerAnd Lenau’s forest where ghosts breedAlways tracking the blue monk, Who plods unerringly toward eternity,Unreachable as in a mirror?

As a child, I believed my aunt,Who smelled of mothballs,When she told me one bedtimeThat blue is the color of eternity, blueLike the veins under tissue skin, I thoughtDying must be blue and the dead,Blue shadows in an azure heaven.

She died on the road to the emergency room,Under a blue light.I inherited a vase from China, blue lapis, On which a blue-robed monkCrosses a blue river on a bridge ofPaler blue to reach the blue garden of eternity.

Later, older, but not much wiserI thought that poetry is blue, the hueOf deathlessness, of all that wandersFrom soul to soul, a blue susurrus,Invisible like the breath of the monkCalming the leaves of the blue trees,Always present in the mind as idea.

Where have I not followed blue since,Like a moth, darting at the heart of flameAs Vincent’s empty eyes, in Ludwig’s speechless sea,Hoelderlin’s mute towerAnd Lenau’s forest where ghosts breedAlways tracking the blue monk, Who plods unerringly toward eternity,Unreachable as in a mirror?